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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23139109">Complete</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathgotyourtongue/pseuds/cathgotyourtongue'>cathgotyourtongue</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Separations</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 08:55:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,811</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23139109</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathgotyourtongue/pseuds/cathgotyourtongue</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Two suitcases and a gym bag wait by the door where they left it the night before, but he pretends he doesn’t see them.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>133</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Complete</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>English is not my first language. I'm not a writer, but watch me sabotage the English language anyway as I experiment on this type of narrative. Feel free to point out any mistakes, constructive criticism is always welcome! Enjoy reading!</p><p>Mood: Drive - The Cars</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>Iwaizumi wakes up first.</p><p>It takes him an embarrassingly long moment to realize that the ceiling he is staring at isn’t his own room’s, that the smell of the pillows upon which his head is resting on doesn’t smell like his own but is just as familiar. It’s been a while since he last slept over, but everything feels just the way he remembers it, except that absolutely nothing about the room looks remotely how he remembers it, and he feels the nostalgia dissipate gradually the more he awakens.</p><p>The walls that used to house countless posters are now bare. The coffee table to the side has been covered with a plain sheet. As is the low shelf adjacent to it.</p><p>Nothing’s left cluttering on the floor anymore. Two suitcases and a gym bag wait by the door where they left it the night before, but he pretends he doesn’t see them.</p><p>He channels all his attention on himself instead, the strands of hair sticking to the side of his neck, the typical morning ache underneath his sweatpants, the blanket tugged away from him, now barely covering his body,</p><p>and the weight over his bicep to his chest, its owner unaware (or uncaring) of his personal space. He doesn’t mind, though.</p><p>With a slight turn of his head, he takes a lungful of Oikawa-smelling air. And another.</p><p>He pretends he isn’t doing it on purpose. As he takes another deep breath, he pretends he isn’t nuzzling his best friend’s hair.</p><p>“<em>Iwa-chan.</em>”</p><p>His bedmate squirms lightly, tightening his arm around Iwaizumi’s middle. He smiles internally, unable to keep the butterflies from rushing to his stomach. Externally, though, he pushes Oikawa away from his body.</p><p>“Get off.”</p><p>“So mean, Iwa-chan.” It’s their typical banter, just with a lot less energy so early in the morning. Oikawa wriggles in closer, his entire frame almost on top of Iwaizumi, his arms wrapping themselves around his torso once more. Iwaizumi finds himself resting his arms over the over-comfortable man’s back.</p><p>Oikawa must have noticed the soft gesture (nothing about Iwaizumi is soft) because he looks up at him with wondering eyes.</p><p>He almost blushes.</p><p>Good thing he’s already immune to his best friend’s natural charms; crushing on a best friend for over a decade does that to people. Everything that used to cause a spark to run up his spine had dwindled down to zero. All the shallow attraction had lost its appeal quite a while ago. Instead of chasing for the adrenaline, like the final points before victory, like the anticipation of a kiss, Iwaizumi finds himself craving for the calm, the warmth. The feeling of coming home, like knocking on the room next to his to pick up a certain volleyball idiot after class, like watching the sun set, with popsicles in their mouths and a pack of milk bread in Oikawa’s arms and his ace wrapped around his little finger.</p><p>For years, Iwaizumi toes on the line, testing his limits, but not outright crossing them. He tests how long he could caress his setter’s face before said setter’s eyes turn smug and he has to pinch his cheek to wipe it away. He had mastered the art of affection by infusing his love in his punches, in the insults that he throws.</p><p>He toes on his side of the line, never daring to cross without looking on both sides of the street, but he’s terrified of what lies beyond, so he never dares to altogether. He doesn’t want to find out how fragile their bond is.</p><p>Despite himself, he greets him a quiet “morning,” and he waits for a confused reaction, knowing it’s something so out-of-character for him to do.</p><p>Instead, Oikawa’s mouth forms a sleepy, goofy smile. “G’morning, Iwa-chan.”</p><p>His heart seizes up to his throat, adrenaline pumps through his veins for a split moment.</p><p>Perhaps he’s not as immune as he thought.</p><p>He kicks Oikawa out of his own bed and the setter crashes to the ground like a beautiful, shrieking sack of shit, just to give his heart enough time to maybe calm the fuck down before his best friend gets the wrong idea. With a final sigh, he sits up, massaging his scalp as he tries to wake up the rest of the brain cells required for him to function for the rest of the morning.</p><p>“Today’s the day.” A quiet voice says.</p><p>Iwaizumi looks down at his childhood friend, who’s now resting his chin on his arm and his arm on the edge of his bed. When Oikawa meets his gaze, he gives him a small smile.</p><p>It's a fake smile. Not the kind of fake smile that he gives his fans for show, or the kind that gives their opponents the creeps. There isn’t anything complicated about how fake it is. It just is.</p><p>He’s smiling even though he’s not happy. Just like that.</p><p><em>Ah</em>. He feels his heart tighten.</p><p>Any other time and Iwaizumi would have smacked him in the head. He would have kicked his ass to the moon where he belonged, would’ve yelled at him at him that he has no reason to be sad, that this is an incredible opportunity and that he if he doesn’t want it, Iwaizumi would take it for himself.</p><p>Right now, he just… isn’t happy either.</p><p>So instead, he places a hand over his best friend’s head, smoothens his hair out of his face.</p><p>His expression must have been terrible, because Oikawa is staring at him with big, puppy eyes before he crunches them closed, letting a few tears escape to his cheeks and chin.</p><p>“Oi. Hey.”</p><p>Iwaizumi drops down next to him, sitting on the floorboards of Oikawa’s bedroom, where years and years of memories were formed. Reminisced. Cherished. The same floorboards that had been a witness to a friendship so strong, had stayed firm under the thundering, heavy footsteps of two rough young boys running into the room almost every week since they first met all those years ago, under hours and hours of movie nights, under countless of fist fights when their arguments got out of hand.</p><p>They had seen things inanimate objects shouldn’t, like when they had snuck in a couple of beers that one time in middle school and had gotten drunk after a bottle each, and every secret drinking session since then. The floorboards had seen how they’d subtly shift closer to one another in their intoxication, how they’d touch more frequently, little brushes here and there that left the other breathless.</p><p>And they had witnessed the day after, when both idiots pretended nothing happened the night before. Like they hadn’t made the other blush furiously at some point in the night, like they didn’t like how the touches made them feel. But the evidences remained, in the form of beer stains and scattered clothing.</p><p>If floorboards can speak, they would’ve voiced out their frustration <em>years</em> ago.</p><p>Now they’re witnessing yet another frustrating scene above them.</p><p>Iwaizumi holds him upright by his shoulders, forcing Oikawa to look at him. He has snot running down his nose to his lips, has a little bit of drool on the corner of his mouth as he sobbed. <em>You’re adorable when you cry,</em> he thinks.</p><p>“You’re an ugly crier, Shittykawa.”</p><p>“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa cries indignantly, but there’s a small genuine smile that wasn’t there before. Iwaizumi grins triumphantly before pulling him in roughly, pulling him into his chest and wrapping his arms around him tight, tighter that he had ever hugged him before. He feels the other wrap his arms around him, hugging back just as hard.</p><p>“You’re gonna be fine, Oikawa,” he whispers, his lips barely forming the words before he’s shoving them into his ear, ingraining it into his brain. “You’re gonna be <em>great</em>.”</p><p>Oikawa’s body wracks against him as he sobs again, hard. He fights the urge to cry with him, gulps down his insecurities, his fears, his <em>feelings</em>, because Oikawa doesn’t need another crier to harmonize his tears with. He needs a reliable shoulder to lean against, a strong foundation to keep him rooted, to remind him of every single thing that he had built and done for himself to reach <em>this</em> point, to be able to stand up high to reach <em>this</em> dream.</p><p>He needs Iwaizumi the way he always had been all these years. So, he stays firm, hugs him even tighter, a tiny part of him hoping Oikawa will bruise from it so maybe, just maybe, he’ll be reminded that even as they part, they’re always together.</p><p>They don’t know how long they stayed that way, but after a while, Oikawa’s mother knocks lightly on the bedroom door, reminding them that it’s almost time to go.</p><p>They stay deathly still, as if pretending they aren’t there will somehow save them from the inevitable. Iwaizumi pulls back a bit to look down, only to find Oikawa already looking up at him, his eyes wide in fear, in uncertainty.</p><p>But Iwaizumi also sees a sliver of excitement in there, and he is reminded of why he was doing this in the first place.</p><p>He pulls him back in for another hug and pretends that he isn’t kissing him when he presses his mouth over his best friend’s temple.</p><p>“Let’s get you ready.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>As they filled the car with their stuff, he realizes there won’t be any space left for him to squeeze into, which was only fair. The Oikawas will stay with him for a while, at least until he was settled down, an excuse to have their own little vacation.</p><p>He had told them repeatedly that he won’t need to go see them off at the airport. <em>He’s a grown ass man now. He’ll be fine.</em></p><p>But as Iwaizumi and Oikawa’s parents watch him squeeze his luggage on the backseat, <em>(“The trunk is too small! I can’t fit them in, Iwa-chan! Looks like I won’t be leaving after all!”</em>) careful to leave a bit of space for himself, he catches Oikawa’s mother, nose red, eyes puffy, standing next to her husband, both of them looking at him, pity in their eyes. Too much pity, in fact, for a boy who's about to be separated from his best friend...</p><p>And reality hits him like an Oikawa-serve to the head, a sudden force to his skull that leaves him staggering, his body numb like it still could not comprehend the pain that just hit him straight home.</p><p>Iwaizumi had thought they were simply worried about their son, that he’d no doubt be emotional about the fact that Iwaizumi won’t be there to help him if he accidentally forgets one of his bags, or if he misplaces his ticket.</p><p>Now, as unwanted tears blur his sight, unspoken words forming a lump in his throat, he understands why they had been forcing him. He realizes, just then, that what he'll be losing is more than just a childhood friend. And Oikawa's parents knew.</p><p>With eyes downcast, he brings the last one of the bags to the sidewalk, to where Oikawa was waiting.</p><p>He lifts the bag from his shoulder and puts the strap in Oikawa’s outstretched hand.</p><p>The electricity flows through the tips of their fingers, and they look up at the same time, first in shock, then, confusion, and then in understanding.</p><p>The Aoba Johsai gym bag falls to the ground between them as they fall into each other’s arms and they tumble to the ground, tears freely flowing down their faces, mouths open in unrestrained sobs.</p><p>The foundation crumbles.</p><p>
  <em>Don’t go.  Don’t leave me. I’m nothing without you.</em>
</p><p>“Iwa-chan—”</p><p>
  <em> I’ll come with you. I’ll go wherever you want me to go. Take me with you. I love you.</em>
</p><p>“Iwa-chan!”</p><p>
  <em>I love you. I love you. Goddammit, Tooru. I love you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Iwa-chan!”</em>
</p><p>It’s too late when he realizes he had been talking, voicing out loud years and years of pent up emotions, of unequivocal love for the only person in the world that understands him even more than he does himself, the only person that brought him down with insults around his friends but lifted him up the highest around everyone else.</p><p>He was Tooru’s pride, as much as Tooru was his own.</p><p>And now he holds his pride close to his heart, hoping he could merge into him, be <em>one</em> with him, and finally, <em>finally</em> complete him.</p><p>“Hajime-chan,” Oikawa’s voice reaches out to him like freedom to a criminal, and he cherishes the voice he won’t be able to hear for a while. For the first time in more than a decade, he hears his name from Oikawa’s lips once more, and he is reminded of the simpler days, when Iwa-chan was <em>Hajime-chan</em> and Shittykawa was <em>Tooru-kun</em> and everybody else was <em>nobody</em>. He is reminded of the angelic voice that first called out to him that fateful day in the playground, and he thinks he can hear that same child-like voice in his now six-foot tall childhood friend. His best friend. <em>His</em> Tooru.</p><p>“You made me wait so long,” He cries quietly, but Iwaizumi can feel him smile from the way his breath ghosts over his lips and he is in heaven. Oikawa wipes away his tears with the sleeves of his sweater, and proceeds to wipe Iwaizumi’s own. They risk a glance at each other, and Iwaizumi feels the heat creep up from his chest to his cheeks to his ears when he sees the smug look on Oikawa’s face.</p><p>He knows where this is going. “Goddammit Shittykawa. Just say it back.”</p><p>A soft chuckle rumbles in Oikawa’s chest, and Iwaizumi feels it rather than hears it, on his own. “So impatient, Iwa-chan. <em>My Hajime</em>.” He says his name with so much love, so much reverence. Iwaizumi feels soft lips pressed against his neck, something he notices he does sometimes, though rarely, and for a moment he wonders if Oikawa pretends he isn’t kissing him whenever he does that as well.</p><p>“In a few years, Iwa-chan,” His voice wavers, cracks. He gulps down before continuing. “When I come home, I’ll say it back.”</p><p>“You piece of shit. I feel sorry for Argentina.”</p><p>There is no venom in his words, there never is. Only love. The kind of love only the two of them can feel and understand and dish out in ways no one else could ever comprehend.</p><p>They struggle to get back on their feet, both pushing their weights down on each other’s shoulders, until the simple task devolves into not so subtle pushing and grunting and kicking and face-planting. They can <em>feel</em> Tooru’s parents facepalming behind them before taking their places in the car, both assured that all will be well after all.</p><p>When they finally straighten up. Oikawa hefts the strap of his bag over his shoulder before planting his palms over Iwaizumi’s nape, pulling him in so their foreheads press against each other. They stare into each other’s eyes, and thrill shoots up his spine as he recognizes the look of renewed determination on Oikawa’s expression. “Wait for me, Iwa-chan. I’ll say it when I get back. In person. <em>So</em> <em>wait for me</em>.”</p><p>(Oikawa slips a mere three days later, on <em>Skype</em>. Iwaizumi teases him about it whenever the opportunity presents itself.)</p><p>Then their lips meet, and Iwaizumi thinks it should feel more romantic than this, instead it just feels like a pair of lips mashed together, hard and forceful, like how he imagines gorillas would kiss. Not that he had ever imagined that before, of course.</p><p>But then Iwaizumi opens his mouth to relieve a bit of the pressure the same time Oikawa thinks the same thing and does the same.</p><p>They feel the tips of their tongue touching, and then they're staggering away from each other if only to prevent themselves from landing on their butts. The desire shooting straight up his body is the only thing keeping Iwaizumi from crumpling to the ground.</p><p>And then Oikawa was running, running away from him, the coward that he is, to the other side of the car where he had saved a tiny bit of space for himself.</p><p>“Don’t miss me too much Iwa-chan! I’ll be home before you could cry over me!”</p><p>And then he closes the door, and then the Oikawas are waving goodbye, and then they’re gone.</p><p>And Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi is gone as well, like Oikawa had taken his soul with him. But there is no pain, no heartache. Maybe Oikawa took it with him as well, just as he takes every single thing Iwaizumi can give. And he’d gladly give, and give, and give until there is nothing left and he’s no more and it will all still be worth it.</p><p>He walks to his house alone, his fingers ghosting over his lips.</p><p>He feels empty, and yet he feels utterly complete.</p><p>Finally.</p><p>
  <em>Finally.</em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>End mood: I Will Wait - Mumford &amp; Sons<br/>Visit my <a href="https://cathgotyourtongue.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a> or <a href="https://twitter.com/AobaCath">twitter</a> sometime!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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